


Brokering A Good Deal

by ToEdenandBackAgain



Series: Warlock Dowling Loves Love [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hatred of Mathematics, Warlock Dowling POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToEdenandBackAgain/pseuds/ToEdenandBackAgain
Summary: Warlock changes tactics."Brother Francis said a swear yesterday."Nanny pauses."Did he now?"





	Brokering A Good Deal

Warlock hates doing maths, and when he rules the world he’s going to make sure he never has to do it again. But because he doesn’t rule the world yet, Nanny says he needs to do it. Warlock dawdles. He swings his feet. He flicks at the edge of the neatly squared paper so it curls in on itself. He gnaws on the end of the lead pencil until Nanny’s quick fingers snatch it away and replace it with another, which tastes of something awful when he put it to his mouth.

Warlock changes tactics.

“Brother Francis said a swear yesterday.”

Nanny pauses.

“Did he now?”

That’s the voice Nanny uses when she’s pretending she isn’t interested. Warlock smiles and leans his elbows on the table (and promptly removes them when Nanny’s eyebrow shoots up on her forehead).

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ for effect,“A big swear. I could tell you what it was if you’d like Nanny. But I’m doing my maths.”

Nanny drums her long, dark nails on the table and smiles. “Well then, perhaps you can tell me after?’

Warlock scratches the pencil on the paper and sighs, doodling an answer in one of the blank squares, “I might forget by then,” he begins, “But if I didn’t _have _to do my maths, and I could go outside... and have a sweet. And have cake for dinner. And three stories tonight, not one. Maybe I’ll remember it.”

The noise Nanny makes is strange, like she’d tried to laugh but someone had shoved something down her throat instead. When her hands don’t dip down to the neat little pocket of her coat, Warlock knows he hasn’t done a good enough job of convincing.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t be working on mathematics today, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently pull the paper towards her, casting a quick glance at it. Warlock feels, for a little, that he has won and he grins. Nanny tuts and gives him a gentle poke to the forehead.

“Don’t get excited, we’re having a _different _lesson instead.”

“_But Nannnnnyyyyy,” _he whines, though he knows both of his parents hate when he does. Nanny doesn’t mind, not always. She says being annoying helps the great argument, some times.

“Don’t pout, dear. If you pick it up quickly, maybe there will be time for us to go for a turn in the garden before supper.”

Warlock quietly resolves to work as hard as he can at whatever it is Nanny teaches him. She’s much more fun than his tutors, who talk and talk and _talk _and don’t even notice when he stops listening because they don’t even care if he’s learning, not really. Nanny’s lessons are always fun. Nanny moves her chair closer to him and Warlock leans in.

“What you did just there, offering me something in exchange for something else. That was clever.”

“Thank you, Nanny,”

She smiles at the edges of her mouth, “But you didn’t do it very well. You asked too much for what you had, and you lost a good opportunity. But I’m willing to give you a second chance. It’s important to think about how much what you’re offering is _worth_, Warlock. How much does the person _want it, _and what do you think they would be willing to give you in exchange?”

Warlock doesn’t tell Nanny that he think she would want to know the swear an awful lot. He and Nanny haven’t talk about Brother Francis very much since that day in the kitchen, but he still sees all kinds of things. He saw Nanny bring Brother Francis a funny shaped glass full of juice in the garden last week, and a shiny red apple. They had laughed together, and when Nanny had been walking away, Brother Francis had smiled so bright Warlock was sure he got all fuzzy at the edges. But if he told Nanny about that, she might get upset and then he’d have to do his maths and he’d never get to go outside. So he thinks, screwing up his nose as he does.

“If I tell you what the swear was,” he starts, “I’d like cake for dinner. And three stories instead of one- but you don’t have to do the voices.”

He thinks that sounds okay. Nanny already said they could go into the garden, and the sheet of maths is already caught under her hand. And cake is better than a sweet, as long as it’s the strawberry kind with the cloudy cream.

“You can have cake _with_ supper, and I’ll do _two_ stories. But with the voices.” Nanny says back to him.

Warlock think about it. The stories are always better with voices, and he can smell dinner being made in the kitchens and it does smell good. He nods and makes a face, scrunching his forehead down and flattening his lips. He sticks out his hand.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he says, just the way his dad does when he’s saying goodbye to his friends who come around, when they all sit on the patio and smoke fat little cigarettes and drink apple juice.

Nanny does laughs, this time. Her shoulders shake and she brings a hand up to cover her red painted mouth. Warlock likes making Nanny laugh, the only other person in the whole entire world who can do it is Brother Francis. She brings her hand down and closes it around his, giving it a gentle shake.

“No, my dear. It was a great pleasure doing business with you.”

She slides the sheet of maths away from them both and stands up, already reaching for her soft black hat and her parrot headed umbrella.

“I suppose there’s time for a turn about the garden,” she says, “Once you’ve fulfilled your end of our little bargain.”

She waits, and even behind her dark glasses, Warlock can tell she’s looking at him. He fidgets a little. he’s not supposed to repeat the swears he hears around the house, after the one time he asked at dinner what a ‘shit headed prick’ was because he’d heard his dad say it on the phone. But Nanny would never tell on him. And they had made a deal.

“He said... he said,” Warlock leans in and Nanny gets down to her knees on the rug so he can see her. Only Nanny and Brother Francis talk to him like this. It makes him feel special.

“He said _damn _these _bloody _petunias all the way to _Hell._ That’s three whole swears in one sentence, Nanny! He was quite mad.”

Nanny looks like she’s going to laugh again, and she does. She laughs so hard Warlock sees a tiny little tear slide out from under her glasses. She gets to her feet and brushes on her skirt before holding out her hand for him to take.

“Oh, my dear. Perhaps we go and ask him how he’s fairing with them today, hmm? Might take a miracle for him to get those things in order.”

Warlock feels like maybe he’s missing out on a joke, later, when he and Nanny are standing beside Brother Francis and she repeats the words. Brother Francis looks at her with sharp eyes, and then to Warlock, who smiles.

“My dear woman,” Brother Francis begins in his funny little accent, “These things are practically _demonic,_”

Warlock likes the way Nanny smiles when she’s around Brother Francis. He sees all her teeth and the little crinkles at her eyes, behind her glasses. Nanny says they need to let Brother Francis get back to his work, so he says goodbye and says he will be back tomorrow. He and Nanny walk around the garden three more times before dinner. Warlock points out every animal he can see, tells Nanny it was Brother Francis who taught him all the names. Madeline runs over to them and pushes her head against Warlock’s hand until he scratches her behind the ears and he tells Nanny that Brother Francis once threw Madeline’s ball so far it was like magic.

Nanny smiles.

Warlock has cake with his dinner. He hadn’t thought they had any of the strawberry cake with the cloudy cream, there hadn’t been any this morning and the baker didn’t come on Fridays. But when he walks into the dining room there’s a slice as big as his head set out on a plate. His mother doesn’t ask about it, and he wouldn’t tell her anyway.

Nanny always comes to his room for bedtime. She will read him his stories and sing him a lullaby, turn on his night lamp and tuck the covers around him the way he likes. He’s at his bookshelf, searching for the best two stories he can find, when he hears Nanny laughing. It’s her special laugh. The one that Warlock only hears sometimes. He tiptoes to the open window (Nanny says sneaking is an important skill), and looks outside, down into the grounds where two people are standing beside a bed of flowers. He doesn’t need the moonlight to know it’s Nanny and Brother Francis. He wonders what they’re talking about. Nanny laughs again.

Warlock smiles.

He’ll remind Nanny about the stories tomorrow.

This is better.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a tiny snippet of this in response to an ask about Duh and promptly got asked for the full thing. 
> 
> Also I don't know what you call it in your country, but where I'm from it's Maths. Always Maths. With the s. Never Math.


End file.
